


What if...

by becca_letters



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, four what ifs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becca_letters/pseuds/becca_letters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if things had been different?  What if the timing hadn't been so bad?  What if they moved on?  What if we missed our chance?</p><p>Four ways Lizzie's life could have changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What if things had been different?

**Author's Note:**

> So I have been working on this since the episode aired last month. All four sections have been written, but need to be revamped and edited. I hope to post one part a day.
> 
> Beta-ed by me again, so if you find any errors please let me know. (If anyone would like to volunteer to beta for me... that would be awesome.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Not even a little. Nope.

_What if things had been different?_

She has her arms stretched out towards his shoulders. It’s actually quite painful because he’s so tall, but that’s also kind of sexy. Her head sits somewhere in between his chest and his neck. She thinks that maybe she could rest it there listening to his heartbeat if they’d known each other for more than a few minutes. As it is, she’s having a hard time keeping her arms stretched up. 

The dance is awkward and quiet.

The music is terrible, some kind of horrid 80s power ballad about the giving love a second try. She feels uncomfortable with her hands on his shoulders. It reminds her of the homecoming dance her junior year of high school. His arms are pretty strong looking and he's obviously feeling just an uncomfortable as she is, locking his elbows to keep the space between them tangible. She would laugh about this whole situation, crack some kind of joke to ease the tension between them, but she’s still reeling from the smell of the blossoms in Emily Gibson's bouquet. 

It doesn’t help matters that everyone in the wedding reception is staring at them.

Her palms are slightly damp and her throat is so dry. She really wishes she had said yes to that drink earlier. Alcohol is the world's natural lubricant in more ways than one. Oh God, now she's channeling Lydia.

She cranes her neck to look up at his face. For the few seconds she does get a look at him two things strike her forcefully: he has the most amazing blue eyes, and his mouth is turned downwards as if this entire dance experience is the very worst kind of torture to him.

Lizzie doesn’t know that she really blames him. 

“So,” she finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “you’re Bing Lee’s friend?” His hands flex against her waist, fingers spreading and pressing into her skin through the fabric of her dress.

“Yes.”

His voice startles her. It’s deep and rich, another point in his favor. Lizzie has always had a soft spot in her heart for quiet boys with smooth voices.

“How are you enjoying being out of L.A.?” She stretches her neck, looking at him. He’s wearing a bowtie, so he’s a little bit of a throwback. She can work with that. His shirt is soft under her hands, but her arms are more than tired from reaching so high to fit against his shoulders. She sneaks closer to him, shuffling in her heels until she feels the muscles in her arms give a little bit.

“It’s very quiet.” She half expects him to back away from her again as she waits for him to elaborate. Evidently, he’s said all he means to say on the subject.

They rock together, swaying side to side. It’s never terrible, but they don’t speak for the rest of the song, which seems to continue on for an eternity.

When the final chords resonate through the air he thanks her before walking off.

She honestly doesn’t understand what just happened in those four minutes of her life that she will never regain. She does the only thing she can do: she laughs.

\-----

She dreams that night of a full mouth grazing her cheek, a deep voice whispering along the shell of her ear, and blue. Always blue.

\-----

When Bing comes by her house in the days after the wedding, Darcy always sits next to her, quiet, but comfortable. He comments on the book she’s reading, she makes a scathing remark about how sickeningly adorable Bing and Jane are together and he chuckles – it’s under his breath, but she hears it just the same. She can't explain why the sound, deep and rumbling in his chest, makes her smile.

He listens to her, she realizes. He might not always agree - in fact most times he does not - but he always listens. He shares his opinions with her and she's more often than not surprised by his thought process. Sure, he has flaws. Huge flaws, like his belief in a classist society, or the fact that Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream is better than Tillamook, or that dancing and socializing at a wedding are completely preposterous ideas. She finds herself laughing at his abnormality. She almost finds it refreshing, especially when they are out with Bing and Jane, who are two of the world's most passive and agreeable people.

It's in the middle of one of these arguments that a thought occurs to her. She and William Darcy are friends.

She stops in the middle of her tirade about the benefits of aquatic exercise and stares. His eyes crinkle slightly at the edges, the blue of them fixated on her. His nose is slightly crooked, maybe from an injury as a child, clearly not from swimming, but maybe something else. Unlikely a team sport, perhaps some kind of skiing accident, or maybe he fell of a swing or a ladder.

Her gaze slips lower, running along his lips, pink and slightly curved, like he's trying to smile but can't quite remember how. She bites at her lower lip reflexively. The would-be smile on his face falls.

"Is something wrong," he asks. Nothing is wrong, everything is fine.

She shakes her head, suddenly hyper aware of the hair falling around her ears. She pushes it back carefully looking down at the table instead of him.

She smiles and forces a laugh. "I just can't believe that you don't like swimming."

They lapse into a silence that is part awkward, part necessary. Then Jane drags her into conversation and she can't think about the intricate backstory she's creating for William Darcy.

She's not ready for these thoughts of him, not read to ask those questions of herself. She has only begun to recognize that they might be friends.

___

Her dreams are all strong arms, gentle fingers and curved lips grazing her skin.


	2. What if the timing hadn't been so bad?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting George Wickham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you find any mistakes please! Or things that don't make sense. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I still don't own the LBD.

What if the timing hadn’t been so bad? 

She meets George Wickham on a Wednesday night at Carter’s Bar. It's noisy and she's having an unusual amount of trouble getting the bartender's attention. He comes up behind her and does something miraculous because suddenly there is a beer in her hand and she's sitting on a bar stool talking to him.

He is everything Lizzie ever wanted: charming, gorgeous, courteous, kind, a gentleman. She's found that particular breed of male incredibly hard to find.

He doesn't open the conversation with a line, just introduces himself. She asks him why he's in town, she already knows that he's a swimmer himself, just by his body. Strong shoulders, tapered waist, long legs, and nicely muscled arms.

"I'm actually an assistant coach," he says.

She puts on what she thinks is a flirty smile and listens as he talks about his hometown and why he enjoys coaching, why he chose swimming in the first place.

"When I was a kid, I was in the pool all the time. My best friend had one at his place and we used to race. He was always up for a challenge, that guy." George has this wistful look on his face, almost like remembering a simpler time but one that is also touched by sadness. "But then my dad passed away and mom and I had to move."

"I'm so sorry," Lizzie says, and she places her hand overtop of George's. There's a little spark of current that runs through her as he spreads his fingers slightly, allowing hers to slip in between them. He closes his hand on the bar, locking their hands together, rubbing his thumb along the slide of her hand and whatever part of her fingers he can reach.

Her heart picks up it's pace.

They watch Lydia flirt, tease, dance, and drink across the bar. The banter between them is electric and fun, keeping in time with the pulsing pop music coming from the speakers. Her shirt sticks to her back but her palms stay remarkably dry, even the one that is clasped in his.

"She's a bit of a troublemaker, isn't she?" He smiles out at Lydia, who is currently attempting to climb the mountain that is one of the swimmers she met in the corner of the bar.

Lizzie stops and looks at him for a second. "She just really enjoys being the center of attention," she replies finally, not concerned enough by the flush in Lydia's face to stop her. She takes another slip from the same beer she's been nursing all evening. It's bitter and almost warm now, but it's wet and there are too many people in this bar. 

More than that, the more time she spends with George Wickham, the less she trusts him. Every smile that spreads across his perfectly shaped lips is just a little too wide. Every compliment he gives is just a little too smooth, practiced in a way that makes her uneasy, but not enough to make her uncomfortable.

At the end of the night, when Lydia is drunk enough to ask to go home finally, George helps get Lydia to Lizzie's car. He asks for her number, but she just kisses him on the cheek and thanks him for a very pleasant evening.

His extremely charming shoulders slouch, curling inwards, but he reaches out and clucks her chin between his fingers. “We could have been great together, Peach,” he says.

She wonders, as she drives Lydia home, if he was right.

\---

When she sees him next, they’re back at Carter’s but she’s with her sisters, the Lees and Darcy. 

George doesn’t come towards their table. She doesn’t know that she really wants him to anyway. When she looks at him she tastes the sour aftertaste of charm and warm beer. 

Her stomach clenches when he finally looks over at her, but it’s nothing like the pleasant flutter of attraction. His eyes are strangely cold, she fakes a smile and small wave before realizing he’s not looking at her.

He’s watching Darcy. 

Lizzie turns and looks at Darcy who is staring back with a look she can only describe as pure disgust. His gaze doesn’t waver though. He keeps staring, even though it's obviously causing him pain, or at the very least a great deal of discomfort. 

She can’t even begin to understand why.

Darcy excuses himself from the table, but Lizzie follows him, stepping out into the cool fresh air. He leans against the side of the building, breathing deeply.

She stops a few feet away from him not saying anything. She can still hear the music coming from the bar, but at least out here the air doesn’t smell so stale with beer and sweat and too many perfumes. 

She doesn’t think Darcy’s even noticed her until he speaks. “What are you doing out here?” 

It’s curt and rude and absolutely Darcy, but Lizzie doesn’t care. She would be a poor mass communications student if she weren’t able to recognize someone who needed a friend. She’s seen the look on Darcy’s face many times before: friends going through financial issues, break ups, last minute papers that are worth ninty percent of a grade. 

She also recognizes that maybe they don’t know each other well enough for her to ask him directly what that was all about, no matter how much she really wants to hear the whole story (and she’s sure there is a story to be told).

“Just needed some fresh air,” she says and moves to lean on the concrete beside him. “It really kind of smells in there.”

The pained look fractures a little bit from his face, his lips lift into what might even be called a smile to William Darcy. It would be more of a grimace on anyone else, but Lizzie counts it as a win just the same. “I guess it does,” he whispers under his breath.

The two of them stand their together for a while, not saying anything more, until Lizzie is cold enough to ask him to walk her back inside.

His arm brushes hers as they walk through the door, but she feels the touch radiate through her whole body. 

She thinks she might be in real trouble with him.

 

\---


	3. What if they moved on?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty-cakes of angsty-ness. Lizzie goes to Pemberley.

What if they moved on? 

She sees him in every hallway, reflected in every window. Logically she knows that he's actually in Los Angeles and not in San Francisco at all, but she can't help but see the shadow of him everywhere. 

She feels like she's standing right at the edge of something dark and scary, waiting for something or someone to push her over into a free-fall. 

She walks into the offices of Pemberley Digital on the Friday before her actual appointment with them begins. The front hallway is bright as the sun skims along the marble floor. There are vibrant floral arrangements on the countertops, pinks, purples, yellows and oranges, all highlighted with vivid greens. People smile at her as they walk up and down the corridors. There's a kind of sunny feel to the whole place, not just the architecture, which is wonderful mix of high pillars and ceiling-to-floor windows, but also just the interior atmosphere. It's welcoming in a way that Lizzie would have never associated with William Darcy in a million years.

There is a young woman standing at the counter, looking around the room cautiously, a clip board in her hands. She tucks her hair behind her ear looking at the clock, then back out towards the bustle of people littering the front foyer.

The woman smiles when Lizzie touches the counter.

"Lizzie Bennet," she asks. "Welcome to Pemberley Digital. I'm Gigi, I'll be giving you a tour of the facility today."

Lizzie stops because Gigi is the nickname that Fitz had for Darcy's sister. And now that she's actually looking at the girl she can completely see it. They have the same nose, slightly bulbed at the end. They have the same eyes, the almond shape, the inky lashes, the blue of the iris. Her heart beats harder in her chest. 

She spends the next hour walking through the halls, learning everything about the building and some of the projects that they're working on. Gigi never brings up her brother or the videos which hopefully she hasn't seen. The building is incredible, and the company seems amazing. They really take care of their employees.

"How long have you worked here?" Lizzie asks, as they walk towards the cafeteria.

"Oh, uh, I've only been working here part time for a few years now," Gigi replies. Almost like she's trying really hard to hide her identity still. Lizzie wonders if she should rip off the band-aid.

Just before she can Gigi continues, "We really have the most amazing selection of food here. What are you in the mood for?"

The skin at the back of her neck starts to prickle and she just knows that Darcy is not in Los Angeles at all. She looks towards Gigi who has a knowing smile on her face.

He's there, sitting at a table across from a slender brunette with unnaturally glossy hair and perfect skin. He leans across the table, smiling at something she's said, reaching his hand over to play with the woman's fingers. Her throat starts to burn.

"Of course, there's always the coffee cart open on the first floor, if you're not wanting anything too heavy." Gigi finishes her thought before Lizzie even recognizes that she's been staring at the other Darcy.

Gigi must notice her brother then because she calls out to him. Lizzie wants to hide, to find an oven or something to put her head into so that she doesn't have to face him directly. It's been exactly seventy two days since he gave her the letter that has been folded and refolded by her fingers maybe twenty times now. She looks down at the ground, hunching her shoulders, she doesn't know why because he's obviously going to know who she is regardless of where she's looking.

Her heart pounds in her ears, and later on, Lizzie will not remember a single word she said to him. Every response he gives is measured, weighed and perfectly reasonable. He shakes her hand in welcome and tells her that if she needs anything at all he'll be there to answer any questions she might have.

And just like that, he turns back to his table and Lizzie has to make excuses to Gigi because she doesn't understand the dark pit that formed in her chest while he spoke to her. Like he's a completely different person, like they have no history at all.

She rushes to the bathroom Gigi pointed out on their way into the cafeteria and stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her hands gripping at the countertops until her fingers ache from the pressure and her knuckles go white with the strain.

\----


	4. What if we missed our chance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Pemberley thoughts.

What if we missed our chance?

She passes through the weeks as if in a dream, running over what should have been.

She should have said yes. Shouldn’t have looked at her phone. Should have jumped onto his lap and pressed her mouth to his like she’d been dreaming about for days at that point.

But no, she had to be pragmatic, had to think things through. Had to answer Charlotte’s phone call and now it’s been weeks and she hasn’t heard anything from him or Fitz. Gigi has texted her a time or two, just asking how things are at home, making sure that Lizzie’s flight was okay, simple things like that.

Things with Lydia have been tense. The website has vanished, the company apparently disappeared overnight. Lizzie doesn't really know what to think about that at all.

She no longer has her sister's distress to hide behind and each thought makes her head ache. 

Lizzie sits in front of her camera and talks to her viewers, but for the first time she's hiding a huge piece of herself from them. This giant chunk of who she is now she knows she's left behind her.

She admits to herself and only herself that she had been building a life in San Francisco. She had Gigi and Fitz, loved working at Pemberley Digital, was even starting something that seemed a little like a friendship with William Darcy.

Then it was all over and she was on a plane back home. All the what ifs and could have been ripped away with the scream of rubber on tarmac.

She spends her days with Lydia, reading in her father's library, and it's so familiar and so predictable. She's coasting through life, not making her way to any sort of destination. Trapped in a horrible stasis that she can't break free of.

The door to her room opens one afternoon, and she hardly notices except for the gentle click of the latch falling back into the locked position. 

"Excuse me, Lizzie?" Honey coated words that come from a voice she thought she'd never hear again.

Her eyes open, vision clearing for the first time in weeks. Her lips curl.

Maybe they haven't missed their chance at all.


End file.
